Pigeons pay their respects to the Brothers Grimm

The Germans are renowned for having ridiculously long names for things but this one takes the biscuit, or perhaps the beef; “Rindfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsaufgabenübertragungsgesetz”. According to the lovely Poly Bufton it refers to the correct labelling of beef. It is especially depressing for a word-smith like my good self who prides himself on producing at least 600 words of drivel a day in support in the intended aim of this column, to engage the reader with the services of Currencies Direct for all that readers foreign exchange needs. It is the same problem as for the postman at Christmas, too many letters.

Another depressing aspect to our German odyssey, apart from the sort of weather that chaps from the north of England worship (rain) is the dreariness of the architecture with the exception of a few small old areas. Take Hannau yesterday, I wish someone would. Apparently it was heavily bombed during the second works war and has been largely rebuilt. He questions are; why? and have they now shot the architect?

I have a thought-provoking picture today taken against the backdrop of about the only decent building in the town. It is a statue of the Brothers Grimm, writers of the Grimm fairy tales, partly the reason for our visit. As you can see the brothers are looking a little concerned with the attention being paid by some fairly bedraggled pigeons. These are a little older than those I saw when in Chester, probably because those of that age would have been caught and eaten by now. I think the pigeons look a bit Grimm about their plight (as opposed to flight, of which they appear to be incapable)

Pigeons having a Grimm outing

Escaping from Hannau (we did not have to tunnel out, although by the look of the building work going on it looks like some of its inhabitants have been trying), we escaped to Kassel, further to the north. By escape, I mean we drove for two hours in heavy rain, heavy traffic and with a heavy heart from one desolate industrial wilderness to another industrial wilderness. No sign of The quaint and attractive old architecture I has been promised, just more carbuncle-like square ugly monstrosities everywhere, horrible. Even That Nice Lady Grimm Fairy Tale Follower became restive, but things were destined to improve markedly as we drive north for our meeting with our own Sleeping Beauty.

The Sleeping Beauty fairytale, as I understand it, is some nonsense story involving a young girl of 15 who goes to sleep for 100 years and then is awoken and marries her prince. Nowadays in the UK the prince would have found himself up before the beak and on the sex offenders register, but no matter, although a crap story, the castle in which this mythical tale took place is said (by the owners it has to be stated) to be Dornröschenschloss in a tiny hamlet (did they write that as well? I thought it was Shakespear) called Sababurg, and that was where we were to stay.

At last a wonderful building, an old hunting castle, and crucially we had booked one of their turreted rooms. Set in rolling hills, it is a beautiful ancient abode, and we had a sumptuous and frankly fantastic 7 course dinner of the highest quality with neither schnitzel nor bratwurst to be seen. It was magnificent but we must be away quite early this morning on the relentless “cultural” tour. It seems we must go to Hamelyn to visit the scene for The Pied Piper Of Hamelyn (where a lesser author than myself might be tempted to make a very poor joke about pies and pipes, if he could think of anything)